


Malleability

by tenuous_pteradatyl



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Awkward Kissing, Awkward Sexual Situations, Emotional Manipulation, Escape, First Kiss, Kissing, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3496358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenuous_pteradatyl/pseuds/tenuous_pteradatyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Tact. Waylon tries to escape the asylum, but things quickly get complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Malleability

If he lived in a perfect world there would be so many things that would’ve happened differently. Sometimes at night, as he readied himself for bed he would recount them endlessly in his head. It wasn’t an overly long list, but he felt the need to remind himself that there were reasons that things had devolved the way they had. There were reasons he was in the state he was in, at this point he had no one to blame but himself. It made his situation unbearable. He would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night holding onto Gluskin’s arm in a vice like grip, and ironically Gluskin would try to soothe him back to sleep. 

He had been oddly subdued since they had started sleeping in the same bed. Waylon assumed it was because he was basically being used as a substitute for a security blanket fro the other man, he would always wake up to Gluskin for lack of a better term cuddled up to him, holding him almost unbearably tight like he might be snatched away any moment. Waylon wanted to feel disgusted by it, he wanted to feel repulsed, he wanted to feel anything other than what he often felt, and that was contentment. Desperately he searched his mind for feelings of illness at the thought of Gluskin’s touch, but was always disturbed to find none. It was disheartening to think that after all this time fighting back he was slowly losing the battle. 

It had been a week since he had given in, and let Gluskin soothe him on his cot, ever since there had a been a drastic, and unwelcome shift in the dynamic between them. Waylon found himself not as reluctant to play along with Gluskin’s delusions sometimes he found himself smiling affectionately when Gluskin would call him “darling”, when not long ago he was disturbed by it but now…

Now they were sleeping in the same bed, Gluskin was always touching him, and he didn’t mind it, it didn’t phase him at all, he even encouraged it! He would make a point of it sometimes to go out of his way to try to please him, and then make a show of his tiredness. He would complain in sighing tones about aching, and sore muscles to which the Groom would always oblige him. “Oh darling”, he would say with a bemused smile “You’re always working so hard for me”, and would beckon him over for a massage. 

They would stay that way for hours Gluskin mapping out the curves, and angles of his body, exploring new territories, new sensitive areas, new planes of muscle to be conquered. Waylon would always remember too late to be ashamed by it. It was only the next day that he awoke from his stupor. "The wedding is in 2 days”, Gluskin announced to him one morning as he readied himself to slip away into the dark recesses of the asylum. That simple statement struck Waylon harder than any of the blows Gluskin had ever dealt him. He was speechless. In 2 days time he was going to be forcefully married to this lunatic, have his junk cut off, and then most likely raped if he was still alive afterwards.

He vaguely remembered it as being part of the deal he had struck early on. The Groom had agreed to let him stay intact, but after the wedding it had to go. He had agreed with the intent that he would be escaping long before then, but no he had to get caught up, he had to feel sorry for Gluskin, he had to be charmed by him. He looked at Gluskin, and then down at the wedding band on his finger, his ring, the one that signified his marriage to Lisa. Lisa, who would probably be appalled by what he was doing, it made his stomach heave a bit, but he couldn’t show weakness now. 

He gave the Groom a dazzling smile “I can’t wait sweetheart”, he said, and Gluskin kissed him briefly on the forehead. As he pulled back he answered “I can’t either”, he said running a hand down his back and then up to thread his fingers in his hair. A few days ago that same gesture had made Waylon’s breath hitch with something dangerously close to pleasure. Now it made him shiver with a sense of dread. The Groom let him go after a few long minutes, and went off to presumably work on the finishing touches of the wedding.

That left Waylon alone with his racing thoughts. He had nearly been taken in completely by that man. He had almost been fooled into thinking this was something more than just a sick game, a ploy for him to become something he could never be. It hurt on multiple levels, some he didn’t want to admit hurt him. Instead he had to focus on the immediate, in 2 days this was going to be over, and most likely his life would be as well. If he let Gluskin have his way he would never get out of here, and get back to Lisa and the boys. Was he honestly going to let Gluskin tear all of that away from him? For the first time in the past few weeks his head was never more clear than it was now. He had to get out tonight, but the biggest obstacle was how.

In the early days his first escape plans always included a death scene. Gluskin lying dead at his feet, bleeding out like a gutted fish. Other times he was strung up from the rafters, hanging by his neck like all his other victims. There were countless scenarios all increasingly gory, and sadistic, and when he realized he got too much enjoyment out of thinking up new methods of death for the Groom he had stopped himself. He didn’t want to lose himself in the process of getting out although in a way he already had. His plan now wouldn’t include him killing Gluskin, it couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, not now with all these twisted feelings between them. No, he would have to tilt things back in his favor. Despite Gluskin usually making the first move, he seemed to be strangely intoxicated by the first contact Waylon had made. If he could lure him with that again, and get close enough to try to knock him out he could make his getaway. His leg was finally fully healed, and he was sure he could easily lose Gluskin in the wilderness that lay outside. He sat there mulling it over for an hour, and no it wasn’t the best plan. It may not even work, but at the very least he had to try. 

It was risky. Every plan he thought of had risks, some far more than others, and he knew once the choice was made there was no going back. There would be no words, no tender gestures to wedge himself back into Gluskin’s good graces. For a brief moment he contemplated not doing anything. Perhaps Gluskin wouldn’t cut him if he asked, but he berated himself for even thinking something so delusional. It didn’t matter what he did, or said Gluskin would not love him as he was. He would purge him of his vulgarity, and that would be the end of things. 

No, he had to act and do it soon. So with that one burning desire in mind he stumbled off down the hallway, and out into the vocational block. He hadn’t seen much of it since his time with Gluskin he had been neatly confined to his room, and due to injuries and kindly threats he had stayed there. But now he didn’t let Gluskin’s words force him back. He wouldn’t allow his own sick need to stay back to appease him stop his pursuit of freedom. As he made his way through the rooms, the memories of their chase came flooding back to him. He found himself breathing harder as if he were anticipating a second chase, his eyes flickered back, and forth between the walls, the old sewing machines, the upturned furniture. He could almost see himself, long forgotten camera in hand, as he dodged, and weaved around beams, and vaulted over tables, all while the Groom shouted empty promises at him. 

He had wanted to believe, so badly, in those promises a few days ago, he wished he could. Even now he desperately wanted to go back, and forget this plan maybe Gluskin wouldn’t cut him, perhaps he could convince him. He balled his hand into a tight fist, the blunt edges of his nails puncturing the sensitive skin of his palm. No, thinking like that would end up with him dead. He would continue his search. After about an hour he had found a good deal of rope, just enough to bind Gluskin’s hands, and feet, he wasn’t going to take any chances. He contemplated different ways to knock him out, he thought about venturing into Gluskin’s work room to see if there was still some of that gas he had used to knock him out earlier. It was risky, there was a very good chance Gluskin could be there. 

He felt so nervous just at the mere thought of it that he felt his hands shake so violently that he fumbled to try to keep his fingers wrapped firmly around the rope. It was the feel of that ragged rope in his hands that decided things for him, he had to follow through with this, he had come too far to quit now. He slipped the rope into the back pocket of his uniform, and made his way to Gluskin’s room. He took extra care to walk lightly down the hallway, although it was proving to be a lesson in futility with the age of the floorboards. Every creak, and crackle felt like a blow to his heart, he didn’t have fond memories of this hallway or that dreaded room with the table saw. 

It was only a few weeks ago that Gluskin had dragged him, stuffed and hyperventilating in that locker down this hallway rambling on about his desire for a family and how he was some kind of gift. He remembered waking up, ankles and wrists bound to the table, the saw not far away. He could still hear the flies buzzing in his ears, smell the putrid stench of rotting flesh near by, and the sight of Gluskin standing over him caressing his leg with something akin to tenderness. 

Wayon leaned up against the wall for support, his legs felt weak underneath him, and he felt close to vomiting. He steadied himself, those were just memories, that wasn’t going to happen again, he was going to enact his plan, and he was going to make it home in one piece. With that thought in mind he continued down the hallway until he finally made it to the saw room. The door was open already, he poked his head inside, but saw no sign of Gluskin so he quietly made his way in. The actual sight of the room caused his stomach to churn again, but he fought back the urge. 

Despite the blood stains that still decorated the floor the place was relatively clean of the viscera that had covered it when he had been there. He supposed it was because Gluskin had made no new attempts to create brides since he pretty much had one. But he realized he was getting distracted, he had come to find the canister of gas, or really anything he could use to knock Gluskin out with. He made his way gingerly around the room hoping he would see it quickly, and be able to make his exit, he was so caught up in his search that he didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching the doorway.

“Darling?”, he heard behind him and immediately he turned around, so quick his vision almost completely blurred for a moment. “What are you doing here?”, Gluskin asked coming towards him, sewing needle and thread in hand. He looked perplexed, although there seemed to be a spark of anger in his eyes. Waylon looked to the floor he hadn’t found what he was looking for, and in doing so he may have just worn out Gluskin’s kindness. He looked back up to see Gluskin looming over him “You didn’t answer me darling”, he said his voice all too harsh “I thought I told you not to leave your room while I’m away”, he said, and Waylon felt like every word was effectively tearing down all the trust he had somehow managed to cultivate between them. No, he thought he could still get out of this, he could still make it seem as if he were still under his thumb, his life depended on it. 

His eyes fell upon an old fire extinguisher just beyond the door, if he could stall Gluskin long enough…and that’s when he truly committed to the plan. He looked at Gluskin his eyes downcast “I know sweetheart”, he said trying to sound genuinely ashamed “Don’t be angry with me. I just wanted to see you. You’re gone so long during the day I just get lonely that’s all”, he said with a bit of a subtle shrug, and a sniff as if it hurt him that Gluskin didn’t understand why he had come. Gluskin seemed to fall for it because seconds later he had taken Waylon by the chin, and was tilting his face up ever so gently to look at him. “Darling”, he cooed “You could have just said so I have to admit I’m also growing a bit impatient. Two days feels like an eternity, it’s been so long now….”, he trails off, his hands resting tentatively on Waylon’s hips. 

He swallows back an objection. “I know sweetheart”, he answers sweetly his arms circle around Gluskin’s waist, his hands traveling up the broad expanse of his back. He’s going to have to act now, or never get another chance. “Do we really have to wait 2 more days?”, he asks massaging Gluskin’s back as tenderly as he can bring himself to his head resting on Gluskin’s chest almost too comfortably. “You want me to move the date of the wedding to tomorrow?" Gluskin asked, he sounded almost breathless, and Waylon’s hands stopped for a few moments. These next few moments were going to be awful for so many different reasons, one of them being that he had so desperately wanted things to stay as they were. Those endless days of careful touches, the tender caresses, the tireless courtship. 

At the time it didn’t matter to him how screwed up it was, he had wanted things to stay as they were, to never leave that place. He choked back a sob as he said “I was thinking about having the wedding tonight sweetheart”, he proposed, and he heard Gluskin’s breathing hitch for a brief moment. His hands continued their assault on his back “Or at the very least we can….well…”, he trails off as much for the effectiveness of his ploy, but also because what he’s proposing next is most likely going to leave him feeling sullied beyond repair. “At the very least we could work in some practice for the wedding night" he says adding a tone of hopefulness at the end. For a chilling moment he thinks he’s royally screwed. Gluskin rears back as if he had proposed for him to turn around so he could shoot him in the back. 

He gives Waylon an almost feral look, he can’t be sure if it’s an insane hunger or an unbearable rage that’s he seeing in his eyes, but the look alone throws him off guard for what’s coming next. “You little slut”, he breathes, and for a fleeting moment the words sting. He wants to ask “Is that really all you think of me?”, but before he can do anything Gluskin scoops him up in his arms. He’s holding him bridal style as they make their way out of his work room, and back down the hallway to his room. Gluskin doesn’t say anything, but he’s breathing hard, whether it’s due to the strain of carrying another fully grown man, or it’s because of the anticipation he’s not sure. But either way Waylon can feel his heart beat wildly in his ribcage. His plan is very quickly falling to pieces. 

"I can do this. I will do this”, he thinks frantically as he tries to slow his breathing. He would just have to adjust his plan. But before he could even think of what to do next he was being dropped onto Gluskins’ bed. The same bed that they had shared so many times in the past week. What used to be a source of relief now filled him with a horrible sense of dread, and rising anxiety. Gluskin still hasn’t said anything all he’s done is begin to undo his bow tie. Waylon feels a mounting sense of terror as he frantically searches the room, his eyes darting to the floor in search of something, anything he can use to subdue Gluskin. 

Finally his eyes alight on a bottle not far from his own feet. If he could just stall Gluskin long enough he could manage it, but the notion of what he would have to do made his stomach twist, and churn. After a long stretch of silence Gluskin finally spoke “Darling”, he said slowly, his tone almost reverent “You can’t imagine how difficult it’s been these past few weeks trying to keep my hands off you. I wish I could say I have noble intentions even now”, he said as he began unbuttoning his vest. Waylon looked at the slow methodical movement of his fingers, and he was going to have to take charge of this situation, or he may never get a chance again. “No”, he said quietly “Let me do that…let me take care of you”, he said, his words coming out in a quick rush of air.

Gluskin looked at him as if he wasn’t really sure what he wanted to happen. But, after a few tense moments where Waylon was seriously rethinking his decision he gave him a broad smirk, and stopped his slow, and agonizing pursuit of undoing his buttons. “Be my guest”, he said lowering his arms to his sides as his smirk grew impossibly wider. Waylon could already feel the bile surging up his throat, and he gulps audibly before moving forward, his hands shaking so hard he’s not even sure if he’ll be able to do this. But he’s in too deep he has to follow through. He gives Gluskin a quick forced smile as he whispers “Thank you”, and continues Gluskin’s task. He had only made it through the first 2 buttons before Waylon had stopped him, and now standing there he wished he had let him just undo the rest. 

Even as a ploy this is quickly becoming incredibly intimate. He can feel every rise, and fall of Gluskin’s chest as he undoes the buttons. He manages to calm himself down as he makes his way to the middle, and then down finally to the last one. Gluskin slides the vest off quickly, and then gives him an expectant look. Waylon complies by making quicker work of the buttons on his dress shirt, and then…oh he almost faints with the notion of what’s coming next. He feels close to hyperventilating, but instead in a low voice he says “Sit down sweetheart”. Gluskin looks puzzled for a moment, but then does as he’s told. Waylon honestly can’t believe his good luck, the bottle is just within reach if he can just get to it fast enough he could have it over Gluskin's head, and have him out cold in a manner of seconds. But, Gluskin is going to wonder as to why he’s fumbling around on the floor. He’s going to have to play the game a little longer, a little harder. 

His trembling hands traverse over Gluskin’s thighs, and he can feel the other man stiffen for a moment before he relaxes again. He instructs Gluskin to lift his weight up, and eases himself down on to his knees, his hands slowly working his pants down his legs. Gluskin seems to be entranced, he’s said absolutely nothing, as if words would break this stangre spell that’s come over them. Waylon’s glad for it, he’s not sure if he could bear to hear him showering praises on him not when’s planning to betray him this way. Before he rethink his plan anymore he leans off to the side, and his fingers collide with the comforting smoothness of the glass. He grasps the neck so tightly he thinks he might break it, and he brings it behind his back. What he’s planning next is going to take all the willpower he has, but he can’t risk Gluskin’s suspicions. Already Gluskin is eyeing him with something akin to distrust, but Waylon smiles sweetly at him before shooting up, and kissing him. 

The moment their lips touch he instantly regrets it. In his mind he had thought this the perfect distraction, a good way to throw Gluskin off balance so he could make his getaway. But all it managed to do was cut through the last bit of his defense that was still standing. All this time he had been fighting, fighting to stay alive, fighting gluskin, fighting whatever disturbed, and misguided feelings were growing between them. But now as he clutches the back of Gluskin’s head for dear life, he felt like there was something more there. Like he had finally fallen for his own deceptions. In his own sick way he had grown fond of Gluskin, and now at the most crucial moment he could barely think about his escape all he wanted to do was stay there. But the bottle was still in his hand, still clutched tightly with no risk of falling. It was that feeling, that sensation of cool glass against his palm that reminded him, that no matter how he felt, no matter how good this moment felt, it wasn’t going to last. 

It had to end. With that thought in mind he pulled back. Gluskin made a noise like something between a moan, and whine. When they finally did part they stared at each other for long moments before Gluskins’ hands came to rest on Waylon’s shoulders, and he drew him back in. Waylon wasn’t expecting it, nor was he expecting the desire to stay, and the shameful need to kiss back flare up inside him. Would it be so bad to indulge that impulse? Would it be so wrong to stay? 

He knew the answer all too well, and that’s why although the angle was strange, and his aim might be off he reached for the bottle, and swung with explosive force. The bottle shattered, and sprayed the floor with shards of green. There followed a thud that seemed to reverberate deep in his bones, and a small throaty groan that died out quickly. He opened his eyes to see Gluskin’s form sprawled out on the bed, a large cut slashed across his forehead. He felt his lungs heave under the weight of what could have happened if he had missed. He would probably be the one sprawled on the floor, dead. But, instead he stood above Gluskin, the neck of the bottle, with it’s jagged edge still gripped tightly in his hand. He let it fall noisily to the floor as he pulled out the rope from his back pocket. He didn’t know how much time he would have left so he decided it was now or never. 

He fumbled with the rope for a long time. His fingers felt numb, and useless as he tried to delicately bring Gluskin’s wrists together so he could tie them up. It felt strange, he wondered idly if this is how Gluskin had felt when he tied him to the table. This heady sense of control. Waylon doubted he ever felt anything like what he was feeling now as he managed to secure the ragged rope around his thick wrists. He felt regret, slow, and immovable it ran though him. 

He wished above anything that it didn’t have to turn out this way, that even now there was something he could do, some way to save Gluskin. His hands moved slowly over the other man’s for a moment, ignoring the thoughts that sprung to mind of all the times those hands had shot out to hurt him. He dwelt only on the feeling, the shape, and the weight of them. Of all the productive things he could’ve done with them, and how now he would never get the chance. 

He feels the first tears slide down his face as he lowers himself down to bind Gluskin’s ankles. His fingers have lost that sense of numbness by now, and as he ties the final knot as tight as he can, all he feels is a sense of terror, of love, of regret, and ultimately sadness. Gluskin hasn’t moved once during the binding, nor has he made any noise. All he sees is the consistent rise, and fall of his chest. All he can feel is his own labored breath, and steady heartbeat as he lays one hand on the other man's forehead. His tingling fingers stroke his brow once before he whispers a barely audible “I’m sorry”, and makes his way out of the cutting room, down the hall way, into the vocational block, and back into the asylum, unhindered.


End file.
